


Old Games

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, Family, Gen, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 15:57:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7059436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Susan is dreaming of Narnia but that was just a game they played as children. And she dreams of her parents, but they died and she can’t remember their faces. Her siblings all agree. So why does Susan’s head hurt and why do her dreams seem to have bled over into her waking?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Games

 

 

 

“Susan!”

 

Lucy was laughing at her, almost tumbling against her. Susan shook her head, how long had she been asleep? The sun was very hot and she was probably freckling. Edmund was shouting something about bad form; Peter was probably about to say something back at any moment.

 

It was the strangest thing but Susan was almost sure she’d heard a lion’s roar, of all things, and some beautiful music, all connected to a very strange beautiful land, like something out of a story or one of their childhood games. And then there’d been her mother’s voice. But their parents had been dead for almost as long as Susan could remember, she couldn’t even recall their faces. What odd dreams she'd been having and not for the first time. Her head twinged.

 

“We’re going to be late,” Lucy warned everyone.

 

Susan glanced around – the park was looking rather quiet. She quickly gathered up her hat and jacket, Lucy did the same beside her.

 

“We can’t miss the last bell,” Susan warned her brothers.

 

Peter began marshalling everyone and soon they were trooping back towards Kirtle House. They’d have to split up from there of course; girls and boys lived separately at school. Susan patted her hair into place as they approached the school door. The housemistress was waiting for them and only gave them a slightly warning look.

 

“You almost missed it.”

 

Murmuring sorrys, the Penesives hurried in. Lucy pulled a hidden face at the housemistress; Edmund grinned, Susan gave Lucy a reproving look even as her mouth twitched and herded Lucy away. She hated to leave her brothers; even meeting up most weeks didn’t feel like enough somehow.

 

*

 

Upstairs, she and Lucy, despite their differing years, were permitted to share a room. Lucy said her prayers every night and every morning and never seemed to tire of it. Susan sewed and thought about the school work she’d have to do before the end of the week. What a bore.

 

Lucy sing-songed about starting early and rushed off to the library to continue her project about the animals of Africa. She was obsessed. That reminded Susan of the strange dreams she’d had - where there'd been a lion that had _talked_ and had bid her and her siblings to rule in his name. There had been dances and councils and festivals and horse riding. It all made her head twinge, it hurt the more she thought about the strangeness of those dreams. She had almost mentioned it to Lucy once or twice but had never said anything yet. It was too silly and Lucy had always had the most trouble letting go of those old games. She and Susan had been peaceful together for while and Susan didn’t want to ruin it.

 

Susan fixed her mind on other more pleasant things. She might be allowed into town at the weekend. Even with the worry about the recent rise in crime, the older forms had been told that they could spend a few hours out. That would be lovely; Susan was looking forward to it.

 

Lucy hadn’t closed their bedroom door and Susan could hear a couple of first years walking down the hallway, talking quite loudly.

 

“-haven’t caught Caspian. They say he murdered his own uncle.”

 

“My father says they’ll catch him when he tries to leave the country because his face is so well-known now.”

 

Susan flinched and looked down. She’d pricked her finger; blood was staining her skirt.

 

*

 

“You look like you’re somewhere else entirely,” Edmund laughed. “Dreaming of that chap at the post office?”

 

Susan blinked, had she been sleeping again? She shook her head, which ached. There’d been hoofbeats and laugher and trees that had moved. Narnia, that was the name of the place. How very peculiar that she kept dreaming about it. It was really very strange and unsettling. And now to compound things, Edmund was being beastly.

 

“That’s a very silly thing to say,” she told him.

 

“Come off it, Su. He nearly dropped all his stamps last time you went to send a postcard to Aunt Polly.”

 

 _Polly had been kind and cheerful, youthful despite her age, and had insisted that they call her Aunt. She’d talked about Narnia as though..._ No. Susan frowned. How could Aunt Polly have ever talked about Narnia? Why on earth did Susan feel as though she had? She must have come down with something; it had to explain how she seemed to sleep so often during the day now. She rubbed at her temples.

 

Edmund was looking concerned at her silence and maybe her expression as well. Susan had to think of something else, she had to. She wanted her head to stop aching. Her gaze caught on the headline stamped across the newspaper that Edmund had been reading. Not that Susan ever read about that particular story, she always found herself turning away.

 

“He was probably startled by Lucy talking so much about the manhunt for that criminal.”

 

Edmund snorted, “If Lucy was in charge of it, he’d have been caught and locked up by now.”

 

Susan opened her mouth to say that Mother would have been horrified at such a thought but caught herself just in time. What did she know of her mother’s opinions? What did she know of her mother?

 

“Su, what’s wrong? You keep disappearing.”

 

Susan pressed her lips together. She didn’t want to worry her brother but she was beginning to worry herself, about what was happening to her, about the pain she often felt.

 

“Do you ever think about the old games we used to play? That one about the lion and Narnia?”

 

Edmund looked surprised and very amused, “Narnia? Not for years, what on earth made you think of that?”

 

Susan shook her head, “I don’t know. And our parents, do you ever think about them?”

 

“Sometimes, when there’s a train crash in the news or when someone’s talking about the Professor.”

 

Professor Digory was an old friend of their parents who used to let them stay at his house during the summer but then there’d been an accident and his mind and whole demeanour had changed. He needed regular severe treatment now so the Penesives couldn’t see him anymore.

 

The Professor who’d been old with a twinkle in his eyes and there’d been a wardrobe that Lucy had loved and...

 

No, that was a dream. Another one.

 

“Su.”

 

Susan looked at her brother, at his worry and concern and how he didn’t seem to have dreamed as she had. Of course he hadn’t. She forced herself to smile through the headache, “I just wonder what they’d think of us, that’s all.”

 

Edmund’s face cleared and he slipped a companionable arm around her, “I think Lucy would drive them to distraction and I’d be a terrible disappointment and you and Peter would be worshipped for your decorum and manners.”

 

Susan’s smile became much more real and she pushed against him, “You used to have lovely manners too, Ed.”

 

He did. She remembered, she also remembered how shadows sometimes stole over his face and how his temper flared, for no reason at all. No, that wasn't...that wasn't right at all.

 

*

 

Susan went into town with several friends that weekend. She shopped and marvelled at beautifully-dressed women and men. She thought of dancing and make-up that would suit her nicely. She liked how she looked in lipstick and powder, her hair styled just so. She liked pretty clothing and how all made her feel. She stood taller thinking about it, her mind so marvellously free of pain, and put her best foot forward.

 

*

 

There was always a lion in Susan’s dreams. And a bloody paw, a bow and arrow, beautiful young men who danced with Susan or fought by her side. There’d been snow and fur coats and there was a horn that hung from her belt and she was meant to blow it, wasn’t she?

 

She wasn’t. Her cousin Eustace wasn’t any different now, he wasn’t friends with Jill Pole and Susan didn’t know Mr Tumnus or Reepicheep or Trumpkin. Father Christmas was just a story for little children.

 

Susan woke up with her heart beating fast, her head aching and the sound of a roar still echoing in her ears.

 

She went straight to Matron who peered at her carefully and checked her nose and eyes and gave her a pill to swallow. Susan was aware of the housemistress standing in the doorway; she was still fully-dressed despite the late hour, looking elegant and composed.

 

Susan went to swallow the pill but her throat constricted and under those gazes, the roar still ringing in her head, she kept the pill under her tongue instead. She hoped the shadows hid everything else.

 

“You’ll feel much better now,” Matron told her.

 

The housemistress smiled. It echoed in Susan’s dreams.

 

*

 

Lucy was tying a ribbon in her hair. Susan watched her in the mirror. She thought about the pill currently secreted in her jewellery box, she thought about the prayers and hymns that seemed to constantly follow Lucy around.

 

“Do you ever think about our parents?”

 

Lucy’s face wrinkled in the glass, “Sometimes, when there’s a train crash in the news.”

 

Susan’s head ached sharply and everything under her skin trembled.

 

*

 

DOUBTS CAST ON CRIMINAL’S ROYAL HERITAGE

 

CASPIAN SIGHTED IN RUSSIA

 

Susan stared at the newspaper headlines. She’d never seen a photograph of the man they all talked about, it’d always seemed too awful. Or at least that was how it’d felt. There’d been a lot of that recently and Susan wanted it all to stop. So her bare fingers touched the edge of a pile of newspapers. She pulled a copy closer; something was building in her ears and head, she felt as though she _had_ to turn away.

 

She looked. A face, stern and desperate, from her dreams, from Narnia, looked back at her.

 

She left the paper on the ground.

 

*

 

“Susan,” the housemistress stopped her after an afternoon lesson later that week. “Has your sleep been more peaceful recently?”

 

Susan smiled and did not wince or shake. If anyone knew what she had been experiencing or thinking...

 

“Oh yes, thank you, Ms Green.”

 

The housemistress looked very pleased, “I’m very glad to hear it. I was quite worried for you.”

 

Susan maintained her smile, her hidden pain. “There’s really no need.”

 

*

 

“Peter, do you ever think about our parents?”

 

“Sometimes, when there’s a train crash in the news.”

 

“Or when someone’s talking about the Professor.”

 

“Yes. Su, are you all right?”

 

*

 

Susan was supposed to sleep, that much she knew. Instead she looked out of the window at how moonlight fell across the nearby town. She thought about her parents.

 

They’d died in a train crash; everyone had said it’d been a tragedy. Only Susan could see a train station, she could see herself saying goodbye to people whose faces weren’t clear and then she and her siblings were the ones waiting for a train. And then they were summoned to Narnia, by Caspian, blowing a horn. Susan needed that back.

 

She let out a shaky breath, her head so painful. What in heaven’s name was going on?

 

She looked around the room, at Lucy sleeping, at the pictures on the wall, the angles of it all. This wasn’t where Susan had stayed before; she could remember another school room and another roommate. She and Lucy had shared a room at home though and...

 

It reminded her of a song, a satyr had played it on a lyre once during a picnic. In the quiet of the room, such an elaborate fantasy (it couldn't be anything else, it _couldn't_ ) was like a comfort. Susan had been wearing a long velvet cloak with a floral clasp; she’d been wearing it when...She looked around the room. Hadn’t she worn it here as well?

 

Her heart thumped hard. Her head was aching so much.

 

She didn’t reach for the pill in her jewellery box though, even though she felt as though she really should. Instead, she left the room, wrapping herself up in a winter coat. Fresh air would help, it had to. Outside, all was silent and dark. Susan breathed in deeply.

 

It’d been so cold in Narnia when they’d first arrived there. There’d been snow everywhere, winter but never Christmas. But they’d enjoyed so many seasons there, warm and cold alike. No, they hadn’t, they couldn’t have. But how else could Susan have seen Caspian’s face before? How could her siblings give such identical answers about their parents?

 

“Susan.”

 

The housemistress was walking towards her, a frown on her beautiful face. She always looked so well put-together. Susan let out a breath; she remembered that expression from somewhere else. She remembered stories from Eustace that she’d never wanted to hear, about Caspian’s son and the woman he had fallen in love with. Susan’s head hurt, she wanted to sleep.

 

She wanted the lion to stop roaring; she wanted things to make sense again. Why was Ms Green’s expression changing, becoming so furious, almost like a snarl? Susan’s head hurt more and she thought of trains leaving and her parents’ faces...her parents’ faces, she could see them, remember them. She needed...she needed her bow and her horn. She reached past a coat that wasn't there anymore, her hand closing around a welcome familiar shape. Ms Green was opening her mouth and Susan raised the horn to her lips and blew.

 

The sound split the air, there was a rumble and a groan and night was suddenly day. And a lion was roaring.

 

*

 

Ms Green had vanished. Susan felt velvet settle around her shoulders, she touched the flowered clasp and watched as the world changed around her, austere England melting away into her fevered impossible dreams. It was as though the worlds were sighing and singing, relieved at last. And there was Aslan, as magnificent and imposing as he had been in her dreams. Susan could hear Lucy’s cries of happiness and Edmund talking over her about Caspian and Peter calling for his sword.

 

Susan’s bow was solid in her hand; her horn was held securely in the other.

 

“You have freed yourself, Daughter of Eve,” Aslan rumbled. “And your brothers and sister. The Lady of the Green Kirtle had you all in her grasp, your world and Narnia were so affected too.”

 

Susan nodded, her head still hurt. She was looking at a land she had been told she would never see again. Yet, here she was, standing in her dreams.

 

“Ms Green...”

 

“Was a Lady of another name and place. She spoke to you and made you all believe this never existed, that it had only ever been a child’s game. But Narnia had already become such a thing for you so you saw what the others did not.”

 

Susan swallowed. “I could never visit again; I couldn’t live in that shadow.”

 

“It was and is your choice, Daughter.”

 

Susan’s head ached, in such a different way, “I can’t stay.”

 

It wasn’t a question so Aslan didn’t answer but Susan heard what was unsaid anyway. She nodded, bitterness welling up inside of her. She had saved Narnia, she had saved everyone, but she would still have to leave. So would Peter, Edmund and Lucy. They saw their world so differently to Susan, they _lived_ so differently. She could not see what they did or be satisfied with it. She could not live a half life that felt like punishment.

 

“You believed, Susan.”

 

Susan lifted her chin, her horn and bow in hand, her head full of pain and her heart its twin. “Perhaps I did.”

 

_-the end_

 

 


End file.
